


(I Know) Someday You'll Have a Beautiful Life

by Selenai



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Angst, M/M, Smut, implied infidelity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-07
Updated: 2013-11-07
Packaged: 2017-12-31 17:48:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1034580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Selenai/pseuds/Selenai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>PK Subban had never been good at sharing things that belonged to him. Not toys or goals, and definitely not people. He doesn't suggest falling for a professional hockey player for anyone with a possessive personality.</p>
            </blockquote>





	(I Know) Someday You'll Have a Beautiful Life

**Author's Note:**

> This is definitely my first time writing RPF of any kind, and mostly this fic happened completely by accident. I was writing something else completely and then this happened in about an hour and a half. I blame being at Starbucks and hopped up on too much caffeine. It's not beta'd so I apologize for that.
> 
> It's short and mostly a lot of smut with some angst. Sorry for that.

PK had never been great at sharing things that belonged to him. He’d never been the best at sharing his toys with his brothers when they were younger, he wasn’t the greatest at passing when he was sure that he had the best shot on goal, and when he fell for someone, he never wanted to share even a moment of their attention with anyone else. 

When he’d fallen for Carey Price, it hadn’t been like when he’d been in relationships with any girls that had come before him, he’d never had to share them with a whole team of guys clamouring for their attention, or hoards of media and screaming fans before. He’d thought that would be the worst of it. Falling for a professional hockey player was definitely not something that PK Subban would advertise for someone with a possessive personality. Hearing the fans chant for him every night filled him with a mix of possessive jealousy and pride. Pride because he knew that at the end of the day he had a part of Carey that not a single one of those fans had, and jealousy because the flushed smile that Carey wore after a good game at the Bell Centre had just as much to do with the fans as it had to do with his game.

But it was PK who got to drag him into a bedroom at the end of the night, lips pressed hard and insistently together, no space left between their bodies, hands everywhere. It was PK who got to pull Carey’s clothes off slowly, exposing every bit of lithe, pale skin. It’s PK whose lips get to slide against the long curve of Carey’s neck and jaw as the other man’s head tilts back against the wall, breathing harder as he grabs at PK’s head and shoulders, pressing them impossibly closer, wanting more of his mouth, more of him.

PK knows that Carey is his in these moments. Knows even before his fingers wrap around they hard, heavy skin of Carey’s cock that he owns these moments with the other man. Nobody else touches him like this, nobody else owns him like this.

Carey’s cock always leaks so much from just the lightest touches, his moans are always so easy for PK, and he doesn’t even make him work for it. After a hard game, it takes just a few strokes of his wrist at just the right angle, and Carey is clutching at PK, begging him for more, begging him to come, and PK likes to bury his face in the crook of Carey’s neck, inhaling the scent of the rink and the locker room and _Carey_ , he’ll suck hard on the skin there, marking him up just enough so that the guys will tease him about it tomorrow, ask him what he got up to, and only the two of them will really know. It won’t matter to PK, really, what the other guys think, if they think some girl did that to him, because he’ll know it’s his mark on Carey. He’ll know that Carey will come back for more. He always does. Every time.

When Carey comes, it’s always with a hitched breath and a stuttering of his hips like he’s trying to get more of PK’s hand around his cock, like he wants to feel more than just his hand. It’s messy, but perfect, and PK loves to lift that hand to his mouth and lick away the proof that Carey was entirely his for those perfect moments, loves to watch Carey’s half-lidded eyes widen just a little, pupils dilating as he licks his own lips in response.

It’s easier to drag him the rest of the way to the bed after that, he’s half-boneless still from his orgasm, and goes very easy, and PK lays him out on his back, hovering over him so that he can watch his face, even as he reaches down to grasp at his own cock with a slight hiss. He strokes it slowly, licking his lips as Carey watches him, still that hungry look in his eyes. All for PK, he’s still PK’s. 

“Come for me. Come on me. C’mon, PK.”

It’s not much of a prompt, but it’s all PK needs, just to hear Carey’s voice as he’s stroking himself, and he moves his hand a little faster, twisting his wrist and sliding his thumb over the moist head of his cock, spreading the precome over the tip and enjoying the way the sensitive tip causes a shiver of pleasure to spike down his spine.

“I’m going to. Jeez, hold your horses,” he grins down at the other man.

Carey just groans a little with a shake of his head, reaching down to brush his fingers against PK’s hips, and the touch is just intimate enough that PK is groaning and coming, spilling hot and wet and messy over Carey’s abdomen, marking him in as primal a way as he can, tilting his head down to catch Carey’s lips in a bruising kiss, biting at the sensitive skin.

By the time that they pull apart, they’re both grinning. They’re always grinning in the aftermath. Always. There’s no reason not to be happy after sex. Except for the last time. The last time PK thought he wasn’t going to have to share Carey. He’d gotten so comfortable not having to share him in this part of their lives, not outside of the team and the media and the fans, he had really thought that he could deal with living this way. 

“I’ve met someone.”

PK turns his head to face Carey, frowning a little as he wipes a little sweat from his face. “What are you talking about?”

“There’s a girl. I met her in Juniors, you’ve met her too, but things had been pretty on-again-off-again for a while, I just thought I should let you know that they’re going to probably be pretty on-again.”

PK just stares at Carey for another minute, feeling entirely more naked than he is. “What?”

“Her name’s Angela. I know you’ve met her, come on man.”

PK swallows hard and nods, going through names and faces in his mind and trying to push past the post-orgasm fog that’s lingering in his brain. He vaguely remembers Carey introducing him to his girlfriend a few years ago. But that seems like forever ago and he hasn’t seen her in a long time. He’d thought that she was long gone by now. He had no idea that they were still seeing each other. Not that he and Carey were dating or being exclusive or that they’d had any conversations of the sort, but he’d just thought—actually, he has no idea what he’d thought.

“Oh, yeah, I remember her now. Sorry, too many names and faces. What about her?”

Carey nods a little and rolls onto his back a little, a bit of a smile on his face. Not the same kind of smile that he wore only a few minutes ago when PK’s hand had been on his cock, but still one that PK didn’t like sharing with this girl. 

“So, this might be something kind of serious and I thought you ought to know. Sort of a heads up, you know?”

PK just nods and rolls onto his own back, feeling infinitely more uncomfortable now just lying there naked next to Carey. He’d never done this before, he has no idea what to say or do.

That seems to be the end of that, though, and everything seems to go back to normal after that conversation, except that now PK is sharing Carey with the fans, the team, the media, and now with Angela, too. It’s not as bad as he’d thought. He still gets to have his nights with Carey and he only feels the slightest bit of guilt afterwards, when they’re lying there naked and tangled together, breathing heavily.

He never asks Carey if she knows about them, because he doesn’t want to know the answer. He doesn’t want to have to feel guilty for something that feels entirely too right. He still wants Carey to be his, and in those moments, he definitely is.

Until after practice one day when they’re taking off their gear and Carey turns to him and says, “I’m asking Angela to marry me.”

It feels like the floor has been ripped out from under PK, and he just stares at Carey before nodding, and going back taking off his shoulder pads. “That’s great man.”

“Yeah, it is.”

Nothing changes, though. PK had thought that Carey telling him that he was marrying Angela meant that this thing between them was going to be over, and he was going to have to find something else that he was going to fail entirely at having to share, but it turns out that he was wrong.

That night when he has Carey on his back, the other man just lets his legs fall open and stares up at PK with his mouth hanging open a little (and Carey would think that it looks completely stupid, if it his mouth wasn’t so spit slick and kiss swollen and completely hot), before grinning at him. “What, do you need a written invitation?”

PK’s not entirely sure what that means, but he’s pretty sure that it means that Carey’s in the rare mood to be fucked, and he wastes no time in practically leaping for the lube in the bedside table, smearing some over his fingers and working one inside of the other man. It’s almost unbearably tight until he reaches up and strokes his fingers up and down Carey’s cock and he seems to relax enough that he can move his finger inside of him.

“I’m gonna fuck you real good, I promise,” he says huskily, just saying whatever pops into his head, pressing a second finger in, probably a little too soon if the wince on Carey’s face is anything to go by. He doesn’t complain, though, just spreads his legs a little wider and PK watches his fingers move inside of the other man, licking his lips. It looks good, so hot, and he’s going to be able to mark Carey in the most possessive of all things tonight. It had been a good couple of months since they’d done this last. Since a bad loss to the Leafs, and it hadn’t been particularly good that time, but he was going to make sure it was better this time.

By the time that he’s working his cock inside of Carey, he’s breathing hard and staring down at the other man’s face. Carey’s whole face is flush red and twisted a little in discomfort, but he knows that’ll go away soon. He tilts his own hips a little and feels Carey move a bit underneath him and suddenly it’s easier to move and he’s able to thrust shallowly inside of Carey, careful little movements that feel fucking great.

“Fuck, Carey. You feel awesome.”

“Yeah, yeah, just keep going.”

PK snorts a little and nods, moving his hips a little easier now, pleased when that twisted look seems to fall off of Carey’s face to be replaced by that same almost-stupid open mouthed look. Carey’s legs come up to wrap themselves around his hips and they’re finally moving together, Carey pressing down to meet PK’s thrusts which are finally getting deeper each time he presses in, and it really is awesome. He’s relieved each time Carey grunts out a pleased noise and tilts his head back further, making room for PK’s mouth. He can’t leave marks anymore, but he can still nose at his throat, inhaling that scent of him.

“I’m gonna come, PK, so you better be close,” Carey warns him in a low breath, and PK nods, reaching between them to wrap his fingers around Carey’s cock, jerking it carefully but with just the right amount of pressure and direction that he knows Carey likes.

“Come for me, baby.”

The endearment falls from his lips entirely by accident, but it’s too late to take it back, and Carey is coming anyways, so he probably didn’t even hear it and the way his whole body is tightening around PK, his legs around PK’s hips, his arms around his neck, his ass around his cock, it’s all so fucking good, and then he goes loose and limp, and PK takes the opportunity to pull back a little, holding him tight by the hips and to thrust hard and fast inside of him a few times, ignoring the slightly indignant grunts coming from the other man as he does so, because then he’s coming, spilling hot and messy inside of Carey to match the mess that’s mixed up between them.

By the time he pulls out with a wince and collapses next to Carey, his friend is grumbling a bit about the mess and rolling gingerly onto his side.

“That was better than the last time, at least.”

PK just laughs a little, because it’s all he can do to keep himself from remembering that even though in this moment Carey is his, he’s not really.

The wedding is probably the worst day of his life so far. Probably worse than any of their playoff exits to date. There is no other day in his life up to that point that points out more starkly how Carey does not belong to him. He watches with the rest of the guests as Carey marries this girl. Smiles at her that same small smile that he’d always reserved for PK, recites his vows to her, promises to always be hers, exchanges rings with her, kisses her when he’s prompted to, and then walks away down the aisle with her.

Carey isn’t his at all anymore.

At least that’s what he thinks. He imagines that now their late nights together are over for real, there won’t be anymore sneaking into each other’s hotel rooms or coming over to each other’s houses late at night, or sneaking around the locker room when it’s empty. Carey’s a married man now, he has a wife and a life and responsibilities that will keep him away from PK forever.

It’s time to move on.

But then they’re boarding a plane to the Canadian Olympic Camp, sitting next to each other as the plane is taking off, and Carey reaches over and slides his hand against PK’s thigh in a way that can’t be mistaken for anything friendly at all.

PK turns to him, his brows raised. He can see the shine on the brand new wedding ring, and he hates it. He already wants to take it off of Carey.

“We bunking together in Calgary?”

PK stares at him for a minute, thinking it over. He should probably say no. Carey can never be his, not now, not after everything, but how can he say no to the one thing he’s wanted to be his this whole time? If Carey still wants him… He’s pretty sure if they’d met each other first, they could have fallen in love with each other and this whole mess could have been avoided.

“Yeah, yeah if that’s what you want, man.”

“It is. Gotta have my honeymoon somewhere.”

Carey smiles at him and leans back against his pillow, closing his eyes and dozing off.

PK just nods back and watches him sleep, trying not to think too much about what it would have been like if this were an entirely different situation and it _were_ them on their honeymoon together.

Oh well, no use crying over spilled milk or whatever that saying went like, right? He just needed to take what he could get. He could probably learn to share.


End file.
